MURDER AT MELROSE COURT

An English gentleman finds his inheritance threatened as he’s accused of murder in this mannered comedic mystery.

It’s 1920, and Maj. Heathcliff Lennox, a veteran of the First World War, receives distressing news from his butler, Greggs: There’s a dead man lying on his doorstep—truly an uncommon circumstance in sleepy rural England—which kicks off Menuhin’s often humorous story. Lennox has no idea who the man might be nor how he ended up delivered, like a parcel, to his property, but then he finds a sheet of paper hidden in the corpse’s coat with a stranger’s name written on it: Countess Sophia Androvich Zerevki Polyakov. To confound matters further, he later finds out that his uncle, Lord Melrose, has recently asked the very same Sophia to marry him. She turns out to be a supporter of czarist rule who recently escaped the carnage of the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917. Sophia proves herself to be something of an imperious sort, herself; she’s taken over the quarters that had long been reserved for Lennox himself, and she dismissively expels Cooper, the aging butler of the manor, from the premises. She even kicks out Lennox’s dog—before bluntly announcing that Melrose has amended his will to leave her the whole of his considerable fortune. Lennox suspects that something is awry with this whole arrangement—particularly after he overhears Peregrine Kingsley, a longtime lawyer and counselor to Lord Melrose, engaged in intimate and conspiratorial conversation with Natasha Czerina Orlakov-Palen, who’s Sophia’s niece and the fiancee of his own cousin, Edgar. Then Lennox discovers Sophia’s bloodied body, shot dead with his own gun. He’s the principal suspect, and now he’s compelled to devote his Christmas to clearing his own name.

Menuhin conveys the entire story in lighthearted quips and genteel witticisms, hewing to the tradition of classic, madcap British comedy. For instance, it’s revealed that Lennox’s family has been historically plagued by the aforementioned Kingsley, who’s as boundlessly unscrupulous as he is incompetent; it’s never clear why he’s never been dismissed, but his presence is a constant source of delight to readers whenever he appears. The relentlessness of Menuhin’s comedic style can grow exhausting, though, as it sometimes has the feel of a literary stand-up routine. Some of the jokes barely elicit a polite chuckle, as when Lennox chats with Greggs: “Greggs was right; the man looked very dead. ‘Did you check?’ I asked. ‘No, sir—back’s been playing up.’…‘Your paunch is more of an impediment than your spine, Greggs.’ ‘As you say, sir.’ ” For the most part, the characters tend to be stock caricatures rather than nuanced and complex people. For example, Sophia is, at best, a vaudevillian sendup of the stereotypical Russian aristocrat; even her accent is gratingly ridiculous. However, the murder mystery itself is a fine diversion, and readers who may be looking for some very silly entertainment—which is neither too serious nor too literary and which makes minimal demands—will find this a companionable read.

A carefree tale that’s often enjoyable despite occasional clichés.